


I'll Take Your Apologizes From Your Bones and Skin

by AshToSilver



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7126417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshToSilver/pseuds/AshToSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem, with not talking things over with each other, is that sometimes this goes well, and sometimes it doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Take Your Apologizes From Your Bones and Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [J_Not_Joker_Not_Jack_Just_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Not_Joker_Not_Jack_Just_J/gifts).



> **j-not-joker-not-Jack-just-j requested:** _Joker has a panic attack during foreplay._
> 
> EDIT: [idontsleepmakeme](http://idontsleepmakeme.tumblr.com/) did some fanart for this and it is _so beautiful_. [Look at it](http://idontsleepmakeme.tumblr.com/post/145817606798).
> 
> I started a batjokes chatroom while I was writing last night and this prompt was born during discussion. I'm going to be running it at least all month, so you can join us here: <https://www.chatzy.com/48347760913543>.
> 
> This is a part of my June daily prompts challenge - for the month of June, I will be accepting simple batjokes prompts from people. If you'd like me to write one of your prompts, you can comment below with any ideas you have. There's more info [here](http://alexfics.tumblr.com/post/145111053242/accepting-batjokes-prompts) if you want, and all prompts will be posted on AO3 under this series.

The thing about their dance was this. It was brutal, cruel, undefined. It was sharp edges that caught on rough skin and some nights they walked away with the knowledge that one wrong slip would have killed them both.

(This is a lie; it would have killed only one of them, but when one falls, surely the other will too. They are two sides of infinity, the snakes eating each other’s tails. They cannot exist in this context, this tale, without the other. They cannot.)

If you were to hear them talk of their dances, you’d hear a story that sounds like a romance, a tragedy or the worst standup comedy you’ve ever seen in your life. That’s the thing about these two. That’s the thing about the bat and the clown. They don’t even have their own story straight. They don’t even talk about it to each other and sometimes-

Sometimes it leads to things like this.

It’s a quiet morning, all things considering, so early it’s still a bit dark and the night has ended in a display of violent purple and fleeting black, a dance that’ll go down on history, or at least the news. They wound up back here, one safe house among many and they’ll lie about it later, say they separated to lick their wounds and fight another night.

This one was brutal, there was no other way to say it. It had nearly killed them both and Bruce can still feel the manic energy eating away at their skins, at their bones. They almost killed each other and even now, a few feet from a bed and shedding armour and silk like a snake sheds its skin, he can still feel it. That energy, that power. He wants to take his apologies from his lover’s muscle and organs, tear out the regret and guilt and put back in the anger and the love.

He bites, sinking teeth into a pale shoulder and feels nails rake down his back in return. He pushes, pressing the jester’s body towards the bed and digs at vibrant bruises with his own fingers. He licks up the moans and the stray giggles and shrieks, taking it all in as he has a hundred times before.

The problem, with not talking things over with each other, is that sometimes this goes well, and sometimes it doesn’t. And the thing with the Joker, is that it’s very difficult for someone to tell when he’s faking and when he’s not.

So sometimes Bruce doesn’t notice things.

He doesn’t notice when the Joker tenses below him with a sharp hiss as he pushes the clown’s legs open with a forceful knee. He doesn’t notice the look in the jester’s eyes when he goes to nip along a paperwhite jawline. He doesn’t notice how hands coloured with blood and nail polish grip the sheets with an unusual intensity.

Or worse. He notices and he misinterprets. Their sex is two steps and a few shirts less than their fights and it’s so hard to tell pain from pleasure. It’s so hard to tell when to stop or go. It’s so hard to pick apart the pieces of this monster and find the man beneath.

So he puts his weight onto the Joker’s slender waist, pinning him down and wraps one hand around an even thinner throat. He can feel how the clown shivers and thrashes faintly, wheezing out something that might have been a laugh as Bruce struggles with his belt and manages to kick off the last of the black undersuit.

“Beautiful,” Bruce whispers into a tense throat, kissing just above his own fingers as he loosens his hold to let the Joker breath, “hold still, love, just stay there.” He’d already pulled out everything they needed and it’s easy enough to slip a slick finger between the clown’s leg, press up and in.

The almost unholy shriek he gets in return is maddening, the sob of delight intoxicating. He squeezes Joker’s throat again, thrusts up with purpose and slides in a second finger.

And then stumbles back in shock, a hand going to the blossoming pain in his side because, because-

Because the Joker had come out to play instead, and now there’s a knife wound across his side and hip. He can feel the blood dripping down his skin and he registers the pocket knife gleaming red in Joker’s hand. It burns right down into his nerves and Bruce doesn’t even _think_.

He just swings back with the fist that had been around Joker’s throat and slams it into the clown’s diaphragm with enough force that what little air was back in his lungs leaves again, the knife clattering to the floor with a dull thud.

“What the _fuck_ , Joker-” Bruce snarls, grabbing a fistful of the shirt the clown hadn’t taken off after he’d unbuttoned it and giving the man a shake. “What-”

“Nn-no,” comes the choked response, “no, no, I’m sorry, I’m ss-sorry.” There’s a blank look in the Joker’s eye, something shattered and looking awfully similar to fear. “I’m sorry, just- no, stop, stop.”

“Stop,” he sobs, actual tears running down his cheeks, throat heaving beneath the red marks, “pp-please don’t, no, no, I’m sorry.” His whole body is shaking like it’s about to come apart. “Please. I’m sorry, just stop.”

A part of Bruce’s brain registers that he knows what to do when someone acts like this, but it doesn’t know how to deal when it’s the _Joker_. He’s seen glimpses of something like a real person in there before, but never like this.

Never like this.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” the Joker whispers and Bruce recognizes the tone. He’s not apologizing for wrecking the mood, he’s not even apologizing for almost stabbing Bruce. He’s apologizing for some error - something Bruce did or did not see, something that he thinks caused his bat to attack him or force himself upon him and he’s sorry he did it because he wants-

He doesn’t want this.

“Joker,” Bruce murmurs, grabbing his belt and putting an instantly sealing bandage on his wound. That’ll take care of it for a few hours at least. “Joker, its-”

No part of this is okay, and it never has been.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Bruce tries again, but that doesn’t sound right either.

The clown’s trembling head to toe and giving Bruce a look he can’t place. His breathing is rapid and shallow and finally Bruce can’t stand it. He presses his hands as lightly as he can to quivering muscle, only on the arms where there are still sleeves and no skin to skin contact. Gets a hissed _no, no, no_ in return.

They’ve had nights like this before - few and far between that they are - where whatever man the Joker is disappears into something else. Where he forgets their agreements and fights and even the bat itself. Where whatever love and anger and emotion they have together just slips away and all that’s left is this.

Half-forgotten memories and a lot of fear. Someone who isn’t the Joker, isn’t the man he was before, who isn’t anything but whatever he shows Bruce at that moment.

“You’re safe,” Bruce murmurs, kneeling on the floor before the Joker, “I wouldn’t-”

He wants to lie. He wants to say _I’ll never hurt you_ , but it’s the only language they both speak. So instead he tugs on Joker’s arms until he slides off the bed into Bruce’s lap.

There’s a shuddering noise from the clown, and he struggles faintly at the contact before Bruce wraps his arms around the smaller man, drawing him as close. He can feel every muscle tense in preparation for some new assault, but Bruce just holds him, trying to be gentle and keep everything else at bay all at once.

“You’re safe,” Bruce insists, because he has no other way to say _I love you_ , “if you want me to stop, I will. I won’t- I won’t ruin you, I won’t ruin you. I _won’t_.” He breathes in time. “I-” _love you_ “m’sorry. I’m _sorry_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started to struggle with it at the end so its not the best but wHATEVER.


End file.
